Pense

 I wonder if you ever think of me, then again I have also been taught not to ask questions that I don't know the answer to. I also believe that if you are foolish enough to ask a question you don't know the answer to, then you shouldn't be upset at the answer. After all, you asked for it, and had no clue what is coming, so no complaints should be forthcoming. If the answer distresses you, well tough cookies buddy, you should have known not to ask the question in the first place.

Which is the reason that I don't ask you, though I am pretty sure of the answer, I feel that I do, in fact, know the answer and it might distress me. The answer that I believe you would provide would distress me, and would cause me to believe that you are a monster, and no one ever wants to admit that they made love to a monster. Of course, 'love' is a dangerous word, a feeling that a whole lot of people a whole lot smarter than I am have used a lot of 'ink' to try to express, explain, proclaim, deny, or swear revenge because of. Gluttons love their lunch, babies love milk, Romeo loved Juliet (or so he thought), Jim Morrison loved all the drugs, the world is full of billions upon billions of people who love or loved all sorts of things. Some of them healthy, some of them, well not so much. You fall into this latter category, and not just for me. 

The other 'guys' that are rowing the same boat of your monsterhood need not detain us. It matter not who, what or where they are. It matters not their present feelings, or lack of them for you. In short they just simply do not matter to me. Of course, they don't matter to you either, in spite of what you may have told them at the time. That is your gift; you convince someone that they are special and that you give yourself solely to them at the time. They fall for it, just like I did, others will fall for it just like we did. It is both a gift and a curse you share with us. Problem is you get the gift, we get the curse. Not to say that we didn't see it coming, in many ways we are the architects of our own downfall. If we had been paying attention (we weren't) we would have clearly seen the downfall of our successor in interest. It's not like we didn't know them, the trailblazers of misery that came before us, we did. We just simply thought we would be different, after all you told us we would be, and we so desperately wanted to believe you that we did. 

Of course, that's how you reel us in, you tell us we are different, that the others are just some passing fancy, and don't mean anything to you. We nod sagely, and assure you, and ourselves that we are different. Even though a small part of us knows better. It is a large gap of idiocy between knowing better, and doing better. Most of us never manage to bridge that gap. You weave a tale of golden times that sounds like the tale of El Dorado, that city of gold that led so many other men to their doom. Of course we aren't all Spanish explorers, we don't really buy the myth, but somehow we still chase it, like the fools we are, like the fools you turn us into. We wall our disbelief behind a wall of hopes and dreams, like Prospero did to Forunato, listen to your tales of casks of sweet, sweet wine that we know doesn't really exist, all the while praying like fuck that it does. Hopes and dreams are about as useless as 'thoughts and prayers', and are in many ways much more dangerous. Given hope a man will do all sorts of shit that would otherwise make an elephant pause, but hope will get us to storm the citadels of disbelief with the ladders of dreams. 

Maybe you are the stuff that dreams are made of, maybe to the right person you are a real life version of the Maltese Falcon. I've come to seriously doubt it, but I have been wrong before. After all, I trusted you at one point, and that was an unmitigated disaster on pretty much every level. So I will continue to ponder the process(es) behind your appeal. The reasons that myself and other fools like me have fallen for you, and can't seem to give you up, even after all the disasters you create and walk away from. You never seem to get so much as a scratch from all the 'wrecks' you cause. The detritus you leave behind in your wake makes the Titanic look like a mere fender bender.  Of course, all of us are of age, we aren't children (in the chronological sense at least), we are adults who are given the benefit of the doubt that we know what we are doing, even if we very clearly do not know what we are doing, or what is good for us. Each person has his own mistake(s) to make, but that doesn't stop it from hurting like fuck in the harsh morning light that we find ourselves in daily. I suppose I should say that I hope you rot, but I know that would just be a lie, and unlike your lies that I chose to believe, this lie I can only swallow if I don't think too much.